


doing an old friend a favor

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Case Fic, Detectives, F/F, Femslash Festivus, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Heather McNamara gets back in touch with an old friend when she needs a private detective to investigate a blackmailer.





	doing an old friend a favor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenWithABeeThrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/gifts).



Heather McNamara was technically here on a reference. She’d told a friend she was having troubles with a stalker to explain her recent paranoia, and they’d mentioned that they knew a good detective in the city. She’d been about to smile and brush the suggestion off—she couldn’t stand the thought of intruders in her business—but then they mentioned the name, Veronica Sawyer.

Veronica Sawyer.

It was partly just curiosity that drove her to the given address. Partly hope, too. She had never known Veronica Sawyer in high school as well as she would have liked but of all the girls she hadn’t known as well as she’d liked (…and that was all of them) she’d liked Veronica the best. There was something about her. She seemed at once solid and mysterious. It did not surprise Heather that she had become a detective, only that their paths had crossed again.

So here she was, at the given address, and very uncertain of it. The friend had said there would be a sign on the door. There was not. In fact, there was barely a door; the glass on it was shattered and now taped up with cardboard over the holes. Didn’t seem like Veronica. Veronica had always been, as Duke would have put it, a _classy bitch_.

(Just like Chandler.)

She knocked hesitantly, knowing there would be no answer. The lights were off inside. Despite her better instincts she tested the door handle and the door swung open, too broken to resist. She was just stepping inside when a voice called out, “Hey!”

She turned, and nearly smashed her head into what remained of the door’s glass wincing away from Veronica’s glare. Because that was very definitely Veronica Sawyer, and she was very definitely unhappy.

Six feet of Veronica Sawyer in washed out jeans and a leather jacket, eyeliner as thick as ever, as thick as it had probably been plastered the day she was born. Hair a little bedraggled. Mouth set in a scowl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“ _Veronica_ ,” Heather said, putting her hands up. “Veronica, it’s me. Heather.”

Now Veronica took a step back. Her eyes widened briefly, and then she relaxed. “Heather McNamara.”

“That’s right.” Heather waved a hand. “Hey, I, uh…”

“Come in.”

Veronica dragged her into the office, swinging the door shut behind them. The tape detached a little further. Soon the cardboard would fall off. Veronica sat down at her desk. “So, what’s a Heather doing in my office?”

“…I’m not really _a_ Heather anymore. I’m just Heather.”

“Yeah, you guys disbanded.”

Heather winced again. She didn’t really like the memory of “the Heathers”. It had been a very juvenile clique…worse, there was the clique’s relationship with Veronica, and worse than that even, the way the clique had ended up. Anyways. “It’s nice to see you. It’s been many years.”

Veronica nodded briskly. “Yep. Always good. Like I said, what can I do for you?”

Right down to business, then. Heather bit her lip. “You’re a detective now, right?”

“That’s what it says—what it said—on the door.”

“I have a case. I…I think I might have a stalker. Someone’s been sending me notes. They’re trying to blackmail me.” Heather hugged herself. “Are you really a good detective, Veronica? I could use the help.”

“I am a very good detective.” Veronica crossed her arms. “I’ll need all the details you can give.”

“…I can show you the notes.”

She’d brought them with her. Threats about what would happen if she didn’t send money to a certain post box, along with leering suggestions. Mentions of photographs. Veronica read through them and asked, “What photographs?”

“I, um.”

Veronica sighed when she didn’t continue. “You know, Heather, I deal with people’s personal issues all the time. Trust me, I won’t be shocked. I’ve definitely seen worse.”

“They have photos with me and a, uh…” Heather hid her face behind her hand, trying to make it look casual. “…well, there was a girl I, uh, met at a bar, and…”

Veronica raised her eyebrows.

“…you said you know about these kinds of things.”

“So they have…sexually compromising photos of you?”

Heather nodded.

“These notes mention exposing them to your place of work.”

Heather nodded.

Veronica leaned back in her chair. “It’s a standard case, I guess.”

“You’ll take it?”

Veronica didn’t answer.

“Please?”

“I’ve been a bit loaded on cases lately,” Veronica said. “You might want to go to another detective. I have several I can refer you to.”

“No. No way, I can’t…I only came to you because I know you.”

“I’m not the only competent detective in the city.”

“You’re the only one I know.”

“That’s not necessarily a good thing. I’m biased, for example. It’s better to work with a detective who doesn’t know you.”

“Please, Veronica.” Heather clasped her hands. “I can’t imagine going with this to anyone else.”

Veronica looked at her steadily.

“We were friends, right? Can't you do it as a favor to an old friend?”

* * *

 

In the end, Veronica had to take the case. Two hours later, she was still mulling it over and regretting it. It wasn’t that it looked to be a hard one, it was just…well, as she’d said, she knew Heather.

She’d never planned on seeing Heather again. Or anyone from that high school, for that matter.

“Goddamnit, Heather,” she muttered, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. She was alone in her office, and wasn’t sure which Heather it was she was cursing at. When she’d first seen Heather today, she’d been absolutely sure for a moment it was Heather Chandler, back from the grave. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d had that hallucination. Just the first time she’d had it awake and dead sober.

Heather Chandler, Heather Duke, Heather McNamara…if she had to help one of them, it was a good thing it was McNamara. She’d been the best of a bad lot. Still, she’d have said yes to Duke, too, if Duke had pulled the “friends” line on her. They had been friends. More than that, to her—Chandler, briefly, had been everything—but friends, yes, at least. And yet in the end she had been a very bad friend to them. Let Duke go off the deep end. Left McNamara in the lurch, stopped talking to her and answering her calls.

Gotten Chandler _killed_ , though that was something she tried not to think about. Seeing McNamara brought back that old paranoia, the feeling that someone would find out, someone would make her pay. As if. It had been years. That was never going to come again…still.

She took a gulp of whiskey.

Fuck it. She would help McNamara out, settle her little blackmail problem, either kick the blackmailer’s ass or send him to jail. She’d show McNamara that she was a perfectly good friend. Hell, maybe they’d start keeping in touch from now on. Send each other Christmas cards and the like. McNamara would keep her informed on her work in fashion designing and Veronica would keep her updated on the most recent murders and scandalous affairs. Ha. Likely.

At any rate, she could handle this. She was Veronica fucking Sawyer, best PI in New York. She _handled_ things.

* * *

 

A week later, tied to a chair in a blackmailing creep’s basement, she had to admit that while she had handled her feelings about the fucking Heathers pretty well, she had not done an equally adroit job on this damn case.

“Who the fuck are you?” the dude asked. He had a baseball bat in his hand, which was still slightly smeared with blood from when he’d whacked her over the head with it. Ugh. She was still dizzy—definitely a concussion.

“Who…the fuck are you?” she countered.

This was just pettiness. She knew his name, address, even his social security number and debit card. What she hadn’t known until breaking into his house was whether or not he was the man she was looking for, but now, after finding the negatives of the photos (now ripped into shreds) and being hit over the head and tied to a chair, she was pretty certain of it.

“Don’t fuck with me, bitch,” he growled. He levered the bat at her chin. “Veronica Sawyer, right? And you’re some kind of private detective.” He held up her PI license with his free hand—must have grabbed it in the brief seconds when she’d been unconscious.

“Don’t ask questions when you already know the answers.”

“Breaking and entering is illegal, even if you’re a detective.”

“Mm. So is blackmail.”

“So it was _her_. Wasn’t it? That fucking hoe sent you after me.” The dude smashed the bat against the floor. “I’ll _kill_ her.”

“Murder is also a crime,” Veronica informed him. “Anyways, it won’t help you. We have all the information on your blackmailing scheme in a safe box. If either one of us goes missing or turns up dead, the information will be sent to the media. You’ll be in the newspaper, on TV…your life ruined forever.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Yep. “No, I’m not. But there’s a way to stall it.” Veronica jerked her chin. “Come here. I’ll tell you if you promise to let me go.”

The dude was stupid enough to step closer, and he’d been stupid enough earlier to tie only her hands, not her legs. She stood and swung the chair at him, landing a solid hit to his knees. When they buckled, she kicked him in the groin and dropped him to the ground. She stamped on his sternum. He shrieked.

She didn’t leave until she was sure he wouldn’t be getting up for a while. Then she hurried upstairs, unfortunately still dragging the chair along with her. She found a knife in the kitchen and cut herself loose. Her coat was on a chair—why had he taken it off? Ugh. Creepy.

But her cell phone was in the pocket. She called Heather’s number as she stumbled out of the house and onto the road. Let her know she was on her way. Then called herself an Uber.

Heather gasped when she opened the door to her apartment. “Veronica--!”

“I know, I’m a mess, let me in. Lock the door. We’re going to have to call the police in on this one—dude took my license, for one thing, which sucks—but I wanted to warn you first. There’s going to be a lot of questions. But I ripped up the pictures, and I should be able to keep you out of the news. You’ll have to be in the police report, though.” Veronica felt a little bad about that, but with violent perps who wouldn’t listen to reason there was only so much she could do. “I found…”

“Shhh.” Heather pulled her in and closed the door. “Veronica, your head is bleeding.”

“Head wounds are like that.”

“Let’s get it cleaned, huh? Then you can tell me everything.”

Veronica sighed. “Okay, sure.”

The sting of antiseptic was familiar. This cut wasn’t big enough to need stitches of a trip to the hospital, but she still complained as Heather cleaned it out and packed ice against it. For one thing, she had to, just to keep her head, because when Heather looked at her with those concerned eyes, when she brushed her fingers against her forehead and lifted up her hair…

It was hard to remember that she was trying to _handle_ things.

She gave her report, and Heather listened. And when she was done, Heather said, “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“It’s my job.”

“Well…I kind of made you take it. Because we’re old friends. I didn’t expect it would get so dangerous.”

“It’s my job. And.” Veronica wet her lips. “It’s been my pleasure.”

They looked at each other. Veronica hesitated. So Heather liked girls these days. Didn’t mean she liked Veronica. Sometimes she read the signals all wrong.

But.

She too the ice off her forehead, leaned forward, and kissed Heather on the lips. Feeling Heather smile against her, she decided, okay.

Maybe she wanted a little more from this than a Christmas card once a year. If Heather would let her. Maybe letting a little of her past back into her life--at least this little bit, at least this one person--was not so bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Veronica and Jessica Jones are similar because they both have the most intense eyelashes I have ever seen.  
> :) Happy Yuletide!


End file.
